


Humanity Has Declined

by dionvu



Category: D-CRUNCH (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Dark Comedy, Eventual Romance, Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga-centric, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Psychological Drama, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Survival Horror, Worldbuilding, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dionvu/pseuds/dionvu
Summary: In Seoul, the city that sleeps, abandoned by the world, Jungkook survives the only way he knows how. Alone.Four stories overlap in the years that follow the end of the world for seven individuals.(In which Jungkook is lost in zombie-ridden Seoul for an inordinate amount of time before he ends up in the build-your-own aisle for families, Yoongi and Namjoon have a surprising knack for saving people (and losing people), best friends, Jimin and Taehyung experience the worst and best of luck, and Seokjin and Hoseok have an easy (?) ride as sons of wealthy men with political sway.)





	Humanity Has Declined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pantan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantan/gifts), [bokumuteki](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bokumuteki).
  * Inspired by [zombie apocalypse au jungkook](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/475609) by bokumuteki. 



> this was inspired by bokumuteki (@bokumutekii on twitter) and their zombie apocalypse au art piece with jungkook
> 
> subscribe to keep up with updates, because they were will be no scheduled releases for them!

**JUNGKOOK**

_April 11th, 20XX_ __

* * *

“Fuck. Fuck, _fuck!_ ”

Jungkook isn’t the type to curse—he’s sensitive to the ears around him, most days.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, _fuck! FUCK!_ ”

He’s terrified though.

Teeth chattering, nose leaking, feet blistered and aching as they slap against the cold pavement. He’s not looking behind him. He’s _not_ . He will _not_ look into the face of death. He doesn’t want to see it, in the chance he survives, and doesn’t want to see it, in the chance he doesn’t.

He’s crying as he runs. He’s not used to crying.

In his arms he clutches with what he stupidly refuses to part with, his suitcase filled with snacks, changes of clothes, manga books, and the Nikon DSLR camera his mother got for him last birthday. It’s important to him, even if it’s slowing him down, even if it restricts his movement, and he knows it's the stupidest thing he could think to do in this situation, but he's keeping it.

He’s not fucking letting go. Somehow, it's a motivation.

Jungkook is crying and it’s making it hard to see where he’s going.

He stumbles, the tip of his toes catching against a dip in the pavement but he recovers fast, his heart stuttering in the process. He doesn’t linger on the seconds passing, every moment seems less precious than the last, when it can end all so soon, meaninglessly.

 _And I’ll die_ now _—no_ now _—no_ now, his mind taunts.

He continues running, his lungs burning as if priming to turn to ash in his chest.

“Not yet!” he yells, trying not to give up, trying to keep optimistic even as the bleakness sets in the back of his mind.

_Who’s there to keep going for?_

And he’s fucking _terrified_ of the thought.

Behind him he hears the rush of bodies chasing after him, the moans that keep sending chills up his spine but keep his legs pumping when he fears he might drop. It was stupidity that got him here.

Stupidity and shitty luck.

“ _FUCK_!”

Part of him is hoping yelling so loud will finally attract the right attention, but the truth is—and he’s only just belatedly realizing it—it’s only drawing the wrong sort.

A mass dives at him, a growl resounding hairs away from his ear. He twists on instinct and _moves_ , not seeing, not thinking, and just _keeps going_.

_Ok, ok. Think. Think. Think. Just do it. Think!_

He blinks tears from his eyes.

_It’s over._

_Think!_

It’s over.

_No, fucking think!_

He just wants to stop, catch a breath in his oxygen starved lungs, rest his aching muscles that have been working for him overtime since ass o’clock in the morning when everything went wrong.

When the world ended and he’d witnessed horrors he’d only conceptualized in fiction.

Flashes of a woman eating her daughter, ripping at her tiny throat and growling like a rabid mutt over her corpse. An ajumma with blood soaked teeth getting her skull smashed with a pipe by a guy _younger_ than him. Hell, he’d even seen a man tripping his girlfriend just to get ahead, only to be taken down by a horde of those creatures moments later.

He’d heard her screams, could _still_ hear it. Especially the last choking sound she let out before she’d finally met her end.

That was just in the train station though—outside of it, it’d only gotten worse.

 _Think_! _Or don’t!_

Don’t.

That’s it.

Jungkook stops thinking.

He swerves, crossing the street, weaving and darting between stalled cars and the wreckage from the looting wars that had occurred only hours prior. He keeps his gaze up, eyes roaming for points of access. Behind him, the dead continues to growl, hot on his heels.

He clicks his teeth, hating to do it.

Jungkook sniffs.

_Do it._

He drops his suitcase, promising himself very seriously that he’ll return for it once the coast is clear and then promptly, just as he feels a hand brush against his back, sets to scaling the side of an old building he hadn’t been able to catch the name of. An apartment complex if he has to take a guess.

Sweat is mixing with his tears as wetness streams down his face, his arms and legs shaking from the effort it takes to pull himself up and stay attached to the wall with the limited space to use as a footrest. He takes his breaths as needed, feeling faint and light headed as something other than himself took over.

His body keeps moving, his mind shuttering in and out of conscious thought. He can barely discern where he is, or even if he’s alive anymore as he climbs and then suddenly, as his gaze zeros in on a point above him, hyperfocus comes back to him in a flash.

Jungkook grits his teeth. _Window._

The word echoes in his head, and with it comes another word, an important one.

_Survival._

Whatever the hell is in there couldn’t be worse than the hell that was outside, that was for fucking sure.

Goal in mind, Jungkook feels a resurgence of power, just as his fingers are beginning to slacken, they tighten and his legs grow steadier with each step, his arms shaking with his weight as he climbs higher.

It takes seconds after that and before he knows it, he’s staring into his own reflection, behind him the lights of the city of other buildings. He wonders about that. The streets are hell on earth, but what of the buildings and the people in them? How quickly had they been abandoned? Who were the unfortunate few who were too stubborn to leave? Who were the ones without the realization that anything had changed at all?

Jungkook sniffles, sadness threatening to overwhelm him just as a feeling of victory was about to set in.

 _Stop_ , he tells himself. _Get inside._

But the window is locked as he tries to shift it open.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, a dark sensation settling over his skin and pooling in his gut. Tears fill his eyes just as he’d gotten them cleared, and his shoulders pull in, the exhaustion settling over him. He feels—trapped. Stuck.

He could just continue to climb, but that’d take him to the roof, and that isn’t much better. God, he should have just tried using a fucking door again.

Jungkook shakes his head at the delusional thought. He’d _tried_ doors, that’s what had an entire _herd_ after him. One locked door, one figure behind shutting curtains, a few desperate pounds on the door and suddenly it was like he’d found himself in a death trap. Hands had grabbed at him, nails digging into the sleeves of his jacket, the stench of blood and viscera choking him.

In the struggle that ensued—half of which he can’t even remember living through—he’d lost his shoes and here he fucking is now, dangling off the side of a building.

 _Shit_. He knows better now though. There isn’t anyone he can trust, not in Seoul.

Not anymore.

He’s alone.

Jungkook feels an unbidden sob bubble past his throat at the swell of loneliness that makes him feel.

He sucks in a breath, nearly heaves from the exhaustion settling into his bones. Sweat makes his grip on the wall slippery, his arms shaking from his weight, his legs numb and locked in position. He could fall off in a second and he’ll be dead, either from the pack waiting below for him, or from the fall.

Sight blurred from tears, Jungkook takes in shuddering breaths and blinks his gaze clear. Meeting the look in his eyes from the reflection off the window, something _odd_ occurs.

Later, he’ll know what it is, but for now—

One.

He pulls back his arm.

Two.

He braces himself.

Three.

Jungkook throws his entire weight into one single punch, splitting the skin on his knuckles wide open, and cracking the window, denting it. Not nearly enough.

Seeing it, Jungkook grits his teeth, forces himself to focus, winds his arm and _bam!_ Again, again, and again, punching at the glass and clearing it out, unfeeling to the pain, numb to the sight of his own blood coating the edges of the hole he’s creating and the fucked way his hand is looking.

Once the space is big enough for him, Jungkook grips the edge of the windowsill and with the last bit of strength he can muster, he hefts his legs up and over, sending him careening into the room.

If one expected a smooth landing, they would be rather disappointed.

His feet touch nothing as he pivots forward, weightless for a single moment before landing face first onto carpeted floors, covered in the glass he’d punched in, his knee banging against something on the way down before he lays out on the ground, utterly spent.

Dizzy but with adrenaline still spiking his blood, he crawls forward, body shaking, sucking in breath after breath, aiming to get up and walk. He tries to push up, once, twice—fuck. He doesn’t know if he’s in danger still, or if he’s safe for the time being and that uncertainty haunts him, makes him sick to his stomach.

He tries, he tries so hard to get his body to fucking _move._

He’s so scared, so fucking terrified, that even as his eyes shutters closed and his body collapses, deaf to his pleas, he still sees it.

Monsters, and the image of him becoming one.

Jungkook dreams.


End file.
